"Your heart will stop pumping, Aris, won't you fret by your scruffy bed at night or morning or whatever suits you?"
"No, you underestimate me, Sino. I will never niggle over those loathsome pets. A puny piece of rusk and some beamish light during the middle of the night, who needs more?" Yet, passingly, Aris leaned towards the credenza, posing his topful arms onto the slag from yesterday, and mumbled, "Very well, Sino," and laughed, "Sorry to wound you, I promise next time it would be better." Dove-eyed and dismissive, he grabbed the green bottle from to his left, and knocked over it, only a sip, for a horn would have depraved him, and proceeded to toast. "Cheers," he muttered to his own incredulity, and dragged his waist across for a pitiful crash - what an enchanting weather outside - the balloons stuckhung on the wall from way back were still inflatable; though no one blows into them any more - balloons seem always transient figures. Beset in his own history, Aris smiled, his voice saccharine and gesture pleased - in the hamlet, he was intrepid, slashing down peers and Hitlers as if weed. Back, he did the same, equally adamant, and equally sane. Sino was slightly riled. From his face there was no bile, only an insidious friendliness - he trotted to open the freezer laying slovenly beside the glass wall, and opened it more to retrieve the unrecyclable juice bottles from which he would drink throughout the night, and excused to leave - lover was stranded abroad and demanded help, when hardly anyone was willing to qualify at all. He stomped slackly the corridor, beeped open the door, and swiftly shut it, in the same way characters in melodramas would to fend off the ensuing zombies.
Have mercy, Sino preached to himself. Unspeakable was the agony of having to depart. Now it was his own turn - big lesson indeed, the darn karma of cleaning the same comb thrice. How many rolls to take with then? Three? Four? Unpropitious number but certainly would suffice. Yet no, not yet, better grab five, just to medicate his nostalgic, uncomprehending sore with a slightly larger number, and an odd one, ample for the amount of days ahead; plenty for another tower for the agnostic. Then he stationed himself firmly in front of the door for a moment, reminiscing and eventually packing in - Aris had been gone, leaving behind not a trail and utterly light-weight - the bills were finally clear for God's sake and the ticket had been scrounged in as well, same-old story, innocent people pay, spinners trifle and pinch and drink it away. Was it two and a half or three months? Anyways more than what he could afford but less than what he would expect; aw, a laughable couple made up with a cheeky man and a chunk of currish disciples, spitting and gulping feces up on the third floor. Enough! Sino vacillated and shouted inward, "Don't you say anything, you deserter. Just wipe up your arse and move out of the cottage."
Two bottles of the purportedly German fifty-percent cherry juice with glucose syrup in them, ranked right next to the six-pack Beck's beers, were still left unopened. It was interesting as all six bottles of orange juice had ran out, with their cadavers inserted upright into the yellow dustbin for plastic dumps which nobody had given a bloody damn past the inception of the first semester. The wrestled spoons, along with wet tissue scraps slipshodly strewed all over the floor and a broken promise, lay historically over the floor - expect no one to clean it up and be convinced that in the end it's going to turn out right. Sorry about the inconvenience caused for whomever, and he was just too high in altitude and vitality to take care of those. But there's noise, a constant buzzing sound, troubling at first but since then quelled, reverberated in his ears. Was it the sound of the air or the sound of the motor he couldn't ascertain - in it his spirit was deranged and calmed, his feet were swollen and his hands were incapacitated. He could only move his fingers and wrists, not anything above them. There was a glowering inertia, a state of confusion and some blissful dispersion in between. Softened and even deafened, the strokes and locomotion, gradually diluted - his paradise loomed in a piecemeal encroachment. His dearly beloved and his belief, suddenly became inconsequential - he lived a life; he has lived it now - and he's about to be back to his own.
